


his kisses falling over me like stars

by shoulderbone (lavenderforluck)



Series: Accidental Dating Au [2]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Boy Squad, Coming Out, Epilogue, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Josakgate mention, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 08:32:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16036778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderforluck/pseuds/shoulderbone
Summary: The Kollektiv is hosting a New Year's Eve party. The night reveals more than Even is expecting - but since when has he ever accurately predicted an outcome? (The answer is he hasn't. Like, ever.)  An epilogue to 'we make our homes in the dark' aka accidental dating Au.





	his kisses falling over me like stars

**Author's Note:**

> hello! here is a coda/epilogue to the accidental relationship AU I wrote a week and a half ago. You can read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15924506). This takes place a few days after the end of the first piece, so it may not make sense if you haven't read that first! 
> 
> I was so inspired and overjoyed by the response and then successfully egged on by the ever-lovely Heidi to write an epilogue. Here's looking at you, babe. You're the best worst-influence a writer could ever hope for. Takk <3
> 
> Playlist for this verse may be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3dT33Su51DeUDHYv1F5gu2). Have a listen if you fancy!
> 
> Heed the tags(!!!) They're relevant, but there is nothing in this fic that wasn't touched upon in the one previous. Also, this is an AU. Meaning I took liberties with some characterisations, as well as timeline/background AU building. If you're concerned about what this may include, see the end for details.
> 
> Warning* this is unbeta'd. That means my sorry ass looked over it again and again, but I'm sure there are mistakes bound to be within the text. Feel free to let me know if they're cumbersome and I'll right away fix it! 
> 
> Title is from an excerpt of [Saying Your Names](http://youngerpoets.yupnet.org/2008/04/17/saying-your-names-crush-by-richard-siken-2004-winner/) by Richard Siken.

 

 

 

> “Our love came /
> 
> unannounced in the middle of the night.”
> 
> \- Excerpt of “Mouthful of Forevers” by Clementine Von Radics

-

 

There are a limited amount of evenings which possess the same potent glow, or shimmering effervescent fortuity, as does the evening before the New Year. A few days ago Even remained swaddled under a hefty layer of duvets, brooding over his litany of choices the last few months, despondent and nervous. Now his head feels startlingly clear: the absence of such anxiety is actually giving him whiplash, and thus he clutches at the tethers of excitement the night dangles in front of him. No one more than he needs to cling to the existential possibility of a restart button; a fresh beginning; a slate wiped clean again.

But Even knows what he must do before he is granted such a chance. The turning over of the year does not provide one with a conscious absent of stains; one must dig their elbow into the centre of the grievance and get to work.

“Hey,” he runs his thumb over the contour of Isak’s brow bone, smoothing all the hairs in the same direction. “Hey, Isak.”

“Hmm,” is the only response. Isak shuffles closer, slipping his knee in between Even’s legs. His face is composed of fluttering eyelids and a slack mouth, just the tips of his front teeth visible.

“I can hear Eskild setting up for the party already,” Even tells him, playing with the string of Isak’s hoodie, whipping it up and down, up and down. “It’s nearly quarter past seven. Nap time is over.”

“Ugh,” Isak groans, but complies. He wipes his mouth, eyes opening and adjusting to the dim light Even left on. “You were the one convincing me a nap was a good idea but I’m not convinced at all. I’m so tired now.”

Even is about to insist: well, you looked like you needed a nap. Part of him worries a little. Those dark circles under Isak’s eyes have not abated like he predicted they would once the term ended. In certain half-lights such as this, they could be bruises.

Even doesn’t want to say what he knows he has to say - and this feeling is so familiar, so often present and humming within the belly of his brain, that he resents it a little. He tries to resist the self-pity cycle that often pairs with this kind of avoidant behaviour. Instead he thinks about the outcome if he doesn’t tell Isak and knows that is far worse.

For a moment he just watches Isak wake up. Then he thinks about the fact that he enjoys watching Isak wake up.

“You with me here?” his own voice surprises him in it's a melodic cadence, and Isak must hear it too, because he focuses in on Even, eyes widening. Paying attention.

“Yeah,” Isak is so agreeable like this, wrapped up in Even’s arms, so warm and supple. “I’m with you.”

He kisses his cheek. “Good. You know two days ago - when I came over - and I said I had more to say?”

“Mmhmm,” Isak nods.

Even sighs. “Well, I have to say it now, before people start to come over.”

“Sure,” Isak mumbles, taking this precise moment to kiss Even. A little tongue, like he’d rather make out for a while then have any sort of discussion. But Even cannot be deterred, not with the clock ticking. He pulls back.

“It’s important,” Even says. “It’s about you.”

“Me?” Isak looks surprised by this. “Okay. What about me?”

“Well,” Uneasiness fills him: here we go, Even. Say what you have to say. He looks down at the strings on Isak’s hoodie again. “Well. The boys asked if I had hooked up with anyone - in like, mid-October. And I told them I had. And when they asked me who it was, I told them it was you.”

Even pushes on. “I had no idea - I wouldn’t have said anything if I had known, and I regret that we never really talked about it. You - I didn’t - I should have _been_ there for you. And instead I assumed, based on my stupid impressions - and just - _outed_ you, and then didn’t think to even let you know I had said anything to them. So.”

He takes another breath, his fingers tugging on the string now, incapable of looking Isak in the eye now. The rhythm of his breathing is much slower, and so quiet. He wishes he had the courage to say what is painstakingly apparent to him now, despite his previous frivolity: Isak was alone in coming out, and it wasn’t on his own terms, which is what he deserved. Neither of them benefited by not talking about it. Even regrets it. He never asked if he was Isak’s first.

“So...I guess that’s it. I’m sorry,” Even finishes. His voice breaks a little on the edge and he swallows hastily. He doesn’t want to become upset. “I feel really bad about it. Because I know like...that’s your story to tell, whenever you want to tell it.”

A beat passes, and then another, and then it’s a minute, two, and three -  

He looks up to find Isak staring at the ceiling, face impassive. “Isak,” Even can’t keep a the whine out of his voice. “Hey. Hey. Say something.”

Another moment. Isak doesn’t look at him when, in a small voice, he asks, “Were they surprised?”

“What?”

“Surprised,” Isak clarifies. His swallows heavily, Even can see his adam’s apple bob. “Or did they know all along?”

“It wasn’t surprise, exactly. Or a negative reaction, if that’s what you mean. They accept who I am, they’re not homophobic,” Even explains, but Isak just shakes his head.

“No, I mean…” Isak is so far away from now, rescinding to the opaque abyss of his own brain. Then comes the most loaded sigh Even’s ever witnessed.

“I’m sorry,” Even says again for lack of anything else. “It was really insensitive. And I regret it. I wish more than anything I could take it back.”

Isak sits up then, untangling himself from Even’s loose grip. He runs a hand through his hair, now a couple inches from his scalp, miniature golden pastures threaded between his fingers.  

“It’s like this,” Isak’s voice sounds suspiciously sore but now he’s finally talking with his hands, his blood resumes pushing itself through his veins, lungs referring back to their patterns of inhale and exhale. “It took some time. No, I mean, I knew. I had known for a long time. But - _being_ \- gay. After high school, it got better. But... then I went so long without saying anything. I just - I had this fear people would be like, ‘oh we’ve always known, and -’ It’s like, I’m so averse to knowing what their initial look will be that I...Well, anyway. It’s not like I had _met_ anyone yet. Or, I wasn’t really - looking either... because - ”

He gestures to the air, then his hands fall limply to his lap. Even’s heart feels wrung out. He feels worse still - and humbled about it. Something in the way Isak’s hands move in the air. How they carry sorrow.

“I used to have a problem with gay people. Like, homophobia and self-hate, which is so fucking clichéd. I spent a lot of my life being extremely cautious. And pretty fucking rude. And this is not something I’m proud of,” Isak pauses carefully, and lets out a little sigh. Unsure if there’s more to say. “And it’s not who I am anymore.”

“Isak,” Even mumbles, pressing his thumbs together, one on top of the other. “I’m so sorry. It’s not clichéd. There’s a very real reason that you felt this way, and it’s not your fault. That’s on everyone - our friends and family - society, and culture and - ”

“And religion. I know,” Isak says. “Jonas has told me the same thing, several times. But...yeah. I guess I just didn’t really feel like making some big declaration about it, because when I was okay with, things were fine. But then I also couldn’t shake the feeling that I was lying, or something. So I thought, just make it through the first term of university and then see...but then, you know. Life happens. Shit happens.”

“I understand,” Even nods. Isak turns to face him and Even is surprised to find the power of his ashen vulnerability, cast upon his face like a wet, wild stroke of paint, distorting his features. “I feel so bad. Really - ”

“How did you know that they didn’t know? Because the boys said something?”

“No,” Even insists. “I actually realised when you told me - about you coming out to your flatmates. And then Jonas and I saw each other before Christmas.”

“Oh,” Isak says. His jaw tensing, and then relaxing. Over and over again. “Do I even wanna know what Jonas said?”

“Yes. No. Basically he wanted to let me know that I had been careless and stupid. Which was true. For more than one reason. And that I had to make it right with you.”

“Right,” Isak swallows, unsure what to do to with this information, “He’s really gotten in touch with his feelings in the last year or so. And he’s good, about. About that kind of stuff.”

“He’s a good friend,” Even regrets, a little bit, the irrational annoyance which flared up whenever Jonas was brought up - because it’s obvious where it came from. An insecure part of him wished he was the guy everyone could go to for ‘that kind of stuff.’

“Will you just - tell me what the boys said,” Isak asks. He makes a swiping motion with his hand. “Immediately after.”

“They asked if I had slept with anyone, and I said yes and they asked who, and I said I slept with you. And then Mutta said: ‘well, Jonas never said anything.’ And I said, ‘since when does Jonas discuss his friends’ sexual preferences with you?’ And they went: never. And I went, exactly. And then Mikael asked, ‘well, how was it?’ And I said, ‘very nice.’ And that was the end of it.”

“You said that?” Isak asks, “You said ‘very nice’.”

“I said ‘very nice,’” Even repeats.

“Well. I’m not sure, Even. Now how many people exactly have you told  I’m ‘very nice’ in bed? What even is ‘ _very nice_ ’? What the hell is this...slander and libel,” Isak narrows his eyes, and they’re a little red, but he’s smiling now, a hesitant smile. He shakes his head. “I’m disappointed.”

Even wants to cry with relief from his change of tone; or from the guilt and embarrassment of having this conversation at all, or from the terror which filled him in those few minutes when Isak grew so quiet as if preparing to disappear completely. He’s not sure which one first.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I only told them. I think Mikael asked if it was nice and I said ‘very’ but you’re right. But! But, I also said, ‘Far better than any action any of you had ever gotten ever’ and they were a little bit offended by that but I don’t take it back. We _do_ have the hottest sex. Not that I need to tell anyone. But I wanted to make a point that whatever escapades I did have were far exceeding the standards set previously. I may at one point used ‘incredible.’ That’s true. You’re incredible in bed. I’m intoxicated by you.”

Even's rewarded with a humorous scoff, Isak attempting and failing many times to stave off his giggles with a frown as Even babbles on. And rather like of a spool of thread unravelling, Isak’s spine loosens as he scoots closer. His eyes are smiling, and from how the light catches, they twinkle like stars.

“Well, I suppose that’s sufficient,” Isak admits.

“But seriously. I am really sorry, and I want to - I understand if you’re upset.”

“No - I mean, it is what it is now. Fuck it. I’m over being evasive. And when we were at Jonas’ party, making out in the kitchen and I just stopped giving a fuck. Like, fuck if anyone _saw_. But I didn’t know how to start talking about it. Like randomly just coming up to my friends and being like, ‘by the way, I’m gay. Also, did you see that Netflix uploaded _Particle Fever_ finally?’”

“I’m not sure what that is, babe,” Even can't help but chuckle too, and then clears his throat. “No, but really. If you wanna talk about it. Or be annoyed with me. It’s totally within your right to be annoyed.”

Isak raises his eyebrows. “Even. Really. Honestly. I’m kind of nervous, and awkward, knowing now that everyone knows and has for a while. But like. I’m already kind of awkward anyway, and I don’t feel like being annoyed about it. It’s fine. I’m tired of talking about it. I think we should just let it go.”

Even peers up at him, twisting his mouth. A little teasing, “You’re not that awkward.”

“Shut up,” Isak dismisses. “If you had any idea. Honestly.”

Even’s realising there’s a difference between emotional intelligence and one's ability to communicate. Even is a born talker, never licked the shy side of life since the day he came into this world. Yet the volatility of his emotions tend to constitute his ability to connect with others at times. Isak might stumble around his emotions like they’re foreign words in his mouth but he knows, he knows how he feels. He’s spelling it out in his own way.

“Listen,” Even pulls Isak down on top of him, so their bodies align, hip to hip, legs between legs, one bundle of warmth and jumpers and skin. “I know we have a few hours until midnight, but I’m going to make a resolution now.”

“Oh, you are, are you?”

“I am,” Even nods. “My new year’s resolution is to talk to you every day. Once a day, that’s the minimum. That way if you ever feel nervous, or awkward, or alone, you know - at the very least - you know that every day, I’m going to ask you how you are. And then you will always have the opportunity to tell me.”

Isak melts against Even, their cheeks pressing together, his post-nap breath falling upon on Even’s ear. He groans a little when he says, “I am so glad I know you, Even.”

Even’s bursting, astounded by what Isak’s admission does to his body, how he clutches him so close, so tightly then, he nearly breaks a sweat. Their combined heat overwhelms him, everything overwhelms him; he hardly knows how to handle this feeling.

“I know,” Even whispers into the side of his face. All other words fail after; only that he manages to kiss Isak, to kiss him and pour this heavy hot feeling into his mouth. A fear runs underneath this gratitude; how close he was to losing everything. How startling it is to come back from it, to see it now from a distance, safe, adored, and warm.

 

-

 

By half-nine, Eskild is donning a very large pair of pink sunglasses with _2019!_ stretching across the top. His talent lies in making any accessory somehow enhance his overall look and tonight is no different. Vilde, Chris, Sana and Eva arrived an hour ago, and for a while the girls are sequestered in Noora’s room, only wild bouts of errant laughter permitting. But at one point, their voices are in the kitchen near Isak’s door, and then the music started soon after - a Justin Bieber track, no doubt supplied by Noora, when finally Isak untangled himself from and said he was going to take a shower.

In the kitchen Even finds Chris rolling a couple of joints on the kitchen table, talking rapid fire with Sana, wearing a daunting combination of scepticism and dark red lips. Vilde and Eskild prepare punch, which Eskild quickly baptises with a “borrowed” bottle of vodka from his work. They all take a shot at the sink, Even too, his throat burning in a cathartic kind of way, and Eva and Noora conspire which song to play next - because fuck it - the sound system will be inevitably usurped by the boys once they arrive. Noora chooses a Beiber song, and - to be expected - Sana vetoes their choice and puts on her own music. Chris lights a joint and waves it in the air in solidarity.

It’s surprisingly comfortable, and fun. Even’s never gotten to know this side of Isak’s (and Jonas’) friend group. And neither the Kollektiv or the girls make a comment of Even’s presence, nor that he obviously came from Isak’s room. All felt companionable to Even, swirling bursts of energy around him bright and distracting as his friends sang and laughed and danced.

 

-

 

Even’s a shot and a beer in twenty minutes later, graciously taking a hit off Chris’s joint when offered. The pace of the night is picking up. Jonas’s friends Magnus and Mahdi show up, Mahdi toting along that damn vaporizer underneath one arm with a swaggering grin, evoking a round of banter between him and Eva over the merits of weed vs alcohol at a party.

Jonas appears moments later to greetings and cheers. His appearance acts like a claim of convergence, as he pulls Noora into a side hug, kisses Eva all the same, and cracks open a beer from one the six packs he brought with practiced consideration. And then, just as Even expects, makes his way over.

“Even, man,” Jonas is guarded, Even knows, but he looks genuinely pleased to see him. “What’s good?”

“Everything is good. I promise you it’s better than good,” Even tells him honestly. “Happy New Year’s Eve!”

“Happy New Years Eve!” Half the room responds, following Jonas’s lead as he raises his beer to touch. Ever the centre of attention. Even ends up talking to Magnus, whom he suspects went to Nissen with them. Whatever conversation it starts as quickly devolves fifteen minutes in, first when Magnus comments on how nice he finds Even’s voluminous hair and his funky patterned shirt and how cool it is that he has Nas’ ‘The Message’ on vinyl, _what the fuck, man_ -

And then Isak makes his arrival, his hair dried and combed neatly against his skull, golden like a dollop of honey on his head and contrasting his green shirt, buttoned all the way up to the top, highlighting in contrast the long slick shadows of his black denim legs. Even wants to eat him up, how delicious he looks right now; smile easy and complacent as he greets everyone with a wave or a high five, dodging out of Eskild’s reach when a _2019!_ sparkly headband is threatened. No trace of anxiety remains within the fluid movement of Isak’s countenance; it’s almost as if they never had the discussion in the first place. Almost.

Even mainly stays on the periphery, sitting on the kitchen counter and holding handfuls of sparklers or party favours everytime Linn requests him to do so. He’s content to suck on the lime wedges technically reserved for shots, and watch as the boys and girls reposition the furniture to make way for drinking games. All that was said earlier sits within Even now, on his chest, right where he breathes and laughs and swallows. His guilt is a  folded sheet of paper, turning over and over, unfolding and re-folding. He’s not sure it’s easier or harder with the drinking.

Isak makes eye contact with him after a few minutes of chatting and navigates his way over, standing by the counter where Even’s sitting, long legs resting on the back of a chair. Inches from where Even’s hip is exposed a little, between his jeans and his shirt.

Even’s more aware of his body than ever. He grasps Isak’s shoulder in greeting, and then lets go. It feels strangely unlike him.

“You’re my New Year Kiss, aren’t you?” he asks. Half joking. Half not.

Isak peers at him owlishly, smirking. “Well, I would hope it’s you. Otherwise I’m really confused why I’m at this party.”

“It’s your house,” Even reminds him.

“Oh, right. Well. Then I’m really confused why these people are at my house.”

Even can’t help but laugh. Isak seems satisfied with that and helps himself to beer from Jonas’s six pack, slipping Even a darling kind of smile.

 

-

 

Two hours to go, and the house continues to fill up. Notable arrivals include some of Eskild’s coworkers from the bar, Linn’s peculiarly vibrant gamer friends and a handful of university people Even knows of through someone or other. Chris Berg herself attracts a lot of attention at university given her supply, and she holds court in the kitchen by the open window; an array of stoners admirably keeping a steady stream of joints lit.

Jonas has moved the sound system into the living room, and he and his boys stand around it as Madhi and Sana bicker over which track to put on next. Even’s making to find Isak when it becomes immediately apparent that his flatmates have finally turned up.

“Bro,” Even feels, rather than sees, the boys, Mutta’s hand reaching up and shaking his shoulders; Mikael slinging an arm around his other side. “Bro, nice to see you again! Guys, this was our roommate right?”

“Even was your name?” Adam quips.

“Fuck!” Elias jokes, disbelief on his face. “I knew I recognised you somewhere! Wow, how the fuck you been, man? Didn’t you used to have - ”

“Okay, okay. Fuck off, you guys,” Even rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing all the same. “You practiced this joke before you got here, you assholes.”

“It’s been like, two weeks man,” Adam says. “It’s getting weird. I swear Mutta is only days away from claiming the Gold room.”

“Correct you are sir,” Mutta points to Even. “Gotta defend that territory, Even. Or I’m gonna pee all over it and then it’ll be mine.”

“Um, okay. Can I ask why it must always come down to pee with you? And let’s not forget, I actually celebrate Christmas!” Even reminds them indignantly. “I was at my parents,” he continues slowly like they’re all idiots, and his smile starts to creep in again, when he realises that’s the end of his list already. Dammit. “And...then I was here.”

“Ooooooh,” Adam and Elias tease, “You were _here_ , huh?”

“None of that shit talking tonight,” Even reprimands them. “It could weird Isak out. And you embarrass me enough as it is.”

“Fucking untrue, you are embarrassing enough on your own,” Mikael calls him out. “Besides, you are _old news_ my friend.  You missed out on a ton of shit.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Elias groans, his face deadpan. “I see Mahdi brought the fucking Volcano. Fuck yes. I’ll see you brothers on the other side.”

“Wait. What’s happened?” Even tilts his head. Mikael looks two seconds away from laughing, and so Mutta spills the beans.

“Yousef - er - _confessed_ to us he too, has been having a secret-thing,” Mutta raises his eyebrows, shamelessly enjoying having to relay the situation, “He’s actually been living this double life for some time. Who would have thought, huh? Our adorable Yousef, working it on the down low like this.”

“A thing?” Even widens his eyes. Adam claps him on the shoulder, nodding in confirmation. “A thing, since when? With who? Yousef? Where is he now?”

“Over there,” Mikael jerks his thumb behind him, and sure enough, there he sits sitting next to Noora and Sana on the sofa. But wait. Even looks to Mutta - laughing and distracted by Chris waving a joint at him as she makes her way back to the kitchen. He doesn't seem at all upset that Yousef is apparently having a thing with Noora, despite the that his crush was made very apparent for the last four months.

Unless.

“No,” Even shakes his head. “No. I don’t believe it.”

“Be-lie-veeeee it bro,” Adam nods in a gratified, gleeful sort of way. “Yousef has fallen for Elias’ sister. _Sana_. Apparently it’s been building for a while.”

“Damn,” Even breathes, at once understanding and still taken aback. “Well, good for them. Seriously. Yousef is…”

“A perfect cinnamon roll?” Mikael grins ludicrously “ _Special_ , as he’s always been and always will be? I know I’ve said this before, but if we were a boy band, he would be the ‘silent sensitive one.’ It was a unanimous vote.”

“You five were the only ones who voted,” Even reminds him.

“Wrong. Jonas also voted. And out of six, he was ranked number one in the Sweetest Angel Category, and therefore we must protect him at all costs,” Adam bites back with a raised eyebrow.

“Yo, I would protect that dude with _my life_ ,” Mutta adds, and Adam nods again. “Anyway. Even, you’ve been gone for fucking ages and you owe us a beer. Each. So, shall we?”

 

-

 

With an hour left of 2018, Even’s finds himself outside on the front stoop. At first he sought the bathroom, wishing for a space away from the noise, but found it was anything but quiet, with people trying to come in and out to piss or worse. So instead he found the lulls in his conversations and checked Isak remained preoccupied with Eskild and Eva in the kitchen, slipping out into the hall and putting on his coat.

Now the noise is transformed, truncated and indistinct outside the walls of the flat. In the dark Even is aware that he stands here, untethered and free. He could go anywhere if he wanted. In the distance he sees the beginnings of firework displays, trickling through the night like flickers of a flame.

For the first time in a long time, he’s happy where he is. Last New Year’s Eve he was with Sonja at a friend’s party and it all feels like it happened a thousand years ago. He remembered what he was feeling last time too: the desire, that suffocated desire to escape.

It’s startling not to feel it anymore. Or - Even still feels it, and thinks perhaps, that’s just part of his personality, to feel like this - but it’s different now. Somehow lessened. He presses on his chest with his fingertips, asking: where is it? That terrible restlessness that always lived inside his heart, beneath his lungs. It’s gone somewhere. Even thinks of the other feeling stirring inside him: one of encompassing warmth, like a full stomach of soup and bread and a belly of laughter, the kind of contentedness that he dreamed upon having way back in September, when he feared an imminent winter brimming with loneliness and severity.

But now. Now there is Isak. And with Isak, there is a full bodied, all-encompassing sense of responsibility: a responsibility to care. And how un-responsible it feels for him to finally realise this all along. As if he’s cheated the test and somehow won the prize anyway, and nobody's the wiser. How did they end up here in their own corner of forever? If only Isak knew how much of a stumbling mess this was for Even, if only Isak knew how imperfect he’s been and continues to be. It’s masochistic, Even knows, to want to show Isak how truly terrible he’s capable of being. To show him all his teeth, and then still pucker for a kiss.

“Oh,” a soft voice interrupts Even’s thoughts, and he turns away from the purple night to find himself face to face with Yousef. He’s not wearing a coat. “There you are.”

“Hey, dude,” Even smiles, and opens his arms to hug him. “Didn’t really get to say hello. You were - uh - a bit distracted?”

“Oh, right,” Yousef says, looking down at his feet. “I guess the boys already filled you in.”

“Well, yeah,” Even concedes. “But you can tell me if you want. I’ll act surprised.”

“No, no, it’s cool,” he laughs a little. “I actually was looking for you. I wanted to... uh…”

“Oh,” Even says at the same time. His mind blanks. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I just, I was thinking, about all that shit before break, and I couldn’t - let it go, I guess, until I talked to you,” Yousef considers. “Actually, this is kind of the worst time to bring it up, maybe we should just - ”

“No, it’s okay,” Even says, standing up straight. A little concerned now, with the way Yousef’s mouth is pulling into a thin line. “What’s up? No one’s missing us just yet. We got time. Are you okay?” Even asks. Then he re-evaluates. “Wait. Are _we_ okay?”

Another person disappointed in Even’s behaviour. Well, that would make two of them this holiday season.

“What?” Yousef squints, and then understands. “Oh, yeah. No, dude, we’re cool. But…”

A gust of opaque air materialises, so cold and so thick it obscures his mouth. Then it clears, and he speaks. “Did you end up sorting it out, with Isak?”

Even nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Well, actually, it was me. I figured it out.”

“What did you figure out?”

“That I didn’t want us to just be a hook up,” Even allows himself to say. It still bends in the corners of his mouth. “And that... I _wanted_ to be with him.”

“Right,” Yousef nods, a small smile nevertheless curling around his lips. Even doesn’t understand where this is going; all feels supremely awkward between them, as if they’ve had an argument recently and haven’t made up yet. “That’s good. Um - ”

“Yousef,” Even claps his hand on his shoulder, squeezing a little. Similar to how he had touched Isak just an hour before. He tilts his head to the side. “What’s up?”

“Right,” he prattles on. “Well. Remember how you told us about Isak, and everyone was surprised?”

“I do,” Even nods. He’s thought of that moment relentlessly, for the last few days especially.

“Remember when Jonas came to live with us? There was a party at ours, and he was a first year, and Eva brought over a bunch of her friends too - and we all ended up playing some stupid game, what’s it called - spin the bottle?”

“What, were you guys like, five?” Even frowns. “Who decided that shit? And where was I?”

“Probably off with Sonja,” and Even knows it’s not meant to be a jab, especially not coming from Yousef, but it feels like one, all the same. That’s where he often was when shit went down with his friends. _With Sonja_. That or repeating his third year at Bakka.

“Anyway,” Yousef continues. “It was stupid and everyone was getting so drunk, and we were all playing spin the bottle, and it’s Isak’s turn, and he spins it, and it lands on Jonas.”

“Oh,” Even isn’t sure what to make of this.

“Mmm,” Yousef is clearly picturing the scene in his head, from the way his eyes are squinting. He sighs again. “Well, anyway. Isak didn’t want to because he said no one _else_ spun someone of the same sex but you know how the boys can be - ”

“The Rules of the Game is the Name of the Game,” Even recites, having heard Mutta or Elias repeat is so many times that he’s looked up ways to cheat at Monopoly just to fuck with them. Turns out one can’t really cheat at Monopoly.

“Yep,” he nods. “So Jonas was like, ‘it’s no big deal, it’s just a kiss, everyone’s had to do it, so _man up_ and do it -’” Yousef twists his mouth to one side. “And then we were all like - kiss him! Kiss him - and like, peer pressuring him, and Isak really didn’t want to, but then he said, fine, okay, and he closed his eyes...and...

“...And then one of their friends goes, ‘Are you fucking gay or what Isak, why are you closing your eyes?’” Yousef says. He lets out a breath and Even does the same, realising he’s been holding it in. “And Adam said, ‘Well, fuck you, maybe it’s his first kiss. Let him close his eyes.’ and then we all said, ‘oh! It’s not your first kiss, is it, Isak?’ And the girls started yelling about this girl in their high school and - ”

Inside, the song changes. And with it, Even finds his thoughts again, all surging forward at once to press behind his teeth.

His chest constricts, like the pretence before an anxiety attack. Why is Yousef telling him this? He can hardly stand to picture the scenario, despite how distant it feels now; so much has changed since then.  An image of Jonas with his chest puffed out in indignant anger over Even’s cavalier attitude flashes through his brain. He wonders how deep his guilt runs.

Even realises that his cheeks are wet, but when he touches his face he isn’t crying; it’s snow. Snow is falling all around them.

“I’m sorry, but you guys sound like gigantic immature assholes,” Even says when Yousef hasn’t spoken.

“I totally forgot about that night, you know?” Yousef murmurs. “The boys probably too. But I doubt Isak did. And looking back, I’m hardly surprised that we didn’t know. Or that he didn’t really hang out around ours. I...We used to be really shitty about the gay stuff. Not the worst, but not...the best.”

“Shit,” Even curses. “Well, goddammit. You know, all this you’re telling me, it’s making me feel so guilty for how careless I’ve acted in the past.”

“That’s exactly how _I_ felt when you told me,” Yousef agrees. “Anyway.... I wanted to - but I don’t think it’s a good idea if I just go up to Isak and tell him, ‘hey awesome you’re gay now, by the way, so sorry I was a homophobic jerk to you last year - ’”

“Yeah, I have a feeling he’d appreciate that even less,” Even shakes his head. Isak’s earlier words circle around in his head like vultures; drooping in pity, dreadfully potent, threatening to consume his emotional capabilities.

“Well, yeah. I wanted to talk to you about it, because - because I think we did the same thing,” Yousef murmurs, looking more awkward than ever, if that’s possible. It seeps into Even’s skin like the frosty air.

“The same thing?” Even annotates.

“To you,” Yousef specifies and clears his throat, eyes downcast now. Somewhere near Even’s knees. “When you...kissed Mikael.”

“That was different,” Even insists, “I was sick. I was having an episode.”

“Yeah,” Yousef nods, “But having an episode and being gay are not the same thing.”

“No, I know. And I’m not gay,” he point out, “I’m pan. But anyway. Ugh. No, I mean, thank you. For saying that. I really hate talking about that period of my life. So please, can we not do this one tonight.”

“Sorry. I just...I’m sorry if we never like, gave you the coming out you wanted, bro. Or made you feel like you couldn’t talk about it.”

Something tender shrivels up in Even’s gut and bursts, and a million shards of warmth follow it, spreading through his limbs like he’s just taken another shot of vodka. Yousef is staring at him with these awkward, imploring eyes, guilt drawn brusquely across his otherwise closed face. Even has no more to say: just the sheer amount of processing he’ll have to do later begs a tired complacency to let it all return to harmony; it is the last day of the year, after all. And perhaps this is why Yousef has chose this time, and place, and crucially, Even to confess to.

“Yousef... s’okay,” Even pulls him close then, really close, and hugs him. Smells the shampoo he uses, mixed in with his cologne. “I’m sorry too. But if there’s anything I’m learning...it’s that we have to forgive ourselves for fucking up.”

“You’re right,” Yousef says when they part. “But just thinking how sorry you are isn’t enough. Sana said I could try and pray about it. But nothing really felt like it was working.”

A firework, the first big one of the night, sounds off a few streets down. A million particles of light disperse and are swallowed again by the darkness in seconds. Darkness everywhere.

Even knows what he means.

 

-

 

By the time Even traipses inside, it’s twenty minutes to midnight, and his hands are shaking inside his pockets with the force of what he’s learned tonight. It’s all piling up: his own confession, then Isak, now Yousef. What’s next? Even thinks chaotically. A drop-in from Sonja to really kick things off? On second thought, it’s not even remotely funny to imagine. Knowing his luck, it could still happen.

Even is a body displaced amongst a realm of energy and excitement, building and building and bubbling over, the Kollektiv packed with people all wearing sparkly smiles and glittery clothes and _2019!_ headbands (no doubt proliferated by Eskild).

Selfishly, he wishes Yousef hadn’t told him anything tonight - couldn’t New Year’s Eve remain a beacon of last rites of the year, the final twenty-four hour turnover to a new clean slate? Even knew this kind of thinking is grossly romantic; pretty window-dressings obscuring the very real truth. The things we do come back to us in the end.

And yet, he feels touched by tenderness. How could he have never realised how much this confirmation releases a weight in his brain? It is unparalleled than any other: the unspoken, the unsaid, and the suppressed. His bipolar often evoked these responses. And how many years had it been since he was eighteen? Too many to be silent.

His friends never saw the episode coming. Neither did Even. But his thoughts about Mikael - and here is what Even will only admit in the shadows of those darkest hours: they already existed. Perhaps for a longer while than he’s ready to admit - he sort of fell in love for a minute or two. The mania understood how Even felt. And then suddenly it didn’t.

So he couldn’t come out the way he wanted, or when, or with who in the audience. And it’s true - it is true, that up until a few months ago, he was worried how the boys may react. But it’s more complicated than that. There was Sonja, and there was a hospital bed with a serial number matching the one on his wrist; there was the diagnosis, sitting on Even’s chest like a gaping dark hole, ubiquitous and invisible to everyone else.

“….but nonetheless I’m thrilled that I met him.”

Isak’s voice stops him just before entering the kitchen. Under the rowdy hum, Even can barely hear the conversation at hand.

“Because that’s when you were certain you like guys?” a female voice replies. Even frowns. Who could that be - Eva?

Isak hesitates, “Yeah, or, no…More because I was just fake, before that. I was just at home watching Narcos and was gaming and stuff. I’m done with that. Now I want my life to be genuine.”

Another firework explodes outside. Even doesn’t wait to hear the rest of Eva’s sentence, instead engulfed by the fleeting feeling that this is now: all of it. Life is now. What the fuck is he doing? Even’s been living in his head this entire night, trying in earnest to be present and still remaining prisoner to his thoughts. But not anymore. When he steps into the kitchen he finds the tail end of their embrace, Isak flushed and growing pink, Eva a flurry of red hair and laughter, pulling away to meet Even’s gaze.

“Oh, well, look who it is,” she drawls, raising an eyebrow to Isak, who blushes further, and says nothing. Another round of cheering sounds from the next room. “Nearly down to the final countdown, boys. See you in a second.”

“See you,” Isak calls after her, and Even doesn’t bother looking around for familiar faces in the kitchen. There’s only one he wants to see now. He turns to Even, eyes crinkling up in a smile that threatens Even’s already unstable constitution, how his blood sings, and his fingers, hanging limp by his sides, tingle.

“Hey,” Even says. “How are you?”

“I’m doing very well, thank you,” Isak responds. He crosses his arms and leans back against the counter. “Eva and I had a ‘heart-to-heart.’ Well, actually, she was basically drilling me with questions about us and wouldn’t accept yes or no for an answer. Which I wish I could say is the first heart to heart we’ve had standing drunk in a kitchen, but that would be lying.”

Part of Even is curious as to what else was said - Eva studies journalism, and is a fearsome inquisitor; Even’s witnessed a few rows between her and Jonas over a topic they disagree on. Instead of asking, he settles for moving his hands to Isak’s hips, holding him there. “That’s nice.”

“Mm,” Isak tilts his head askance for a kiss, “Sure. But this is nicer.”

“I feel like we haven’t had any time together yet, and now the year is almost over,” Even murmurs against his mouth now, their breath mingling, the smell of beer on Isak’s tongue. His lips are a monument to all the art Even’s ever been fascinated by: angle upon angle, drastic and even a little sinister, cushioned by the plush pink meat of his mouth. Even can’t resist it any longer, he must taste them, must pull them taut between his teeth, gentle and insistent as he kisses Isak. Wishes that he could speak in tongues other than the ones he knows. Wishes there was a language only for this existence, here, standing in the kitchen with their friends all around them, caught up in their own private universe.

“Are you going to be my New Year’s Kiss?” Isak jokes, echoing from earlier.

“Only if you’ll have me.”

“I suppose you’ll do,” Isak laughs.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Even points out, and presses his mouth against his forehead. “And a terrible tease.”

“Bullshit, I’m the master of lying. You don’t even want to know what I’ve done,” Isak bats back. His bravado is hardly convincing when he’s being adorable and trite like this, lashes fluttering like heavy curtains around his eyes with convincing innocence.

“But you’re not denying - you _are_ a terrible tease?”

Isak rolls his eyes, slouching against Even. He lets out a little burp against his shoulder and then laughs at himself, covering his mouth. “Woops.”

“Cute.”

“You’re right. I am very cute.”

Even pulls back, “That’s not what I said!”

“You didn’t have to say it,” Isak points out, and dammit, how right he is, “I already knew.”

“Hey,” Even is overwhelmed again by everything he feels, and he grips Isak’s hipbones tighter as it surges through him. “Fuck, Isak. You look so delicious. I wanna eat you up.”

“Yeah?” Isak raises an eyebrow. “I’ve heard that one before. You need some new lines.”

“Shush,” he admonishes him, and then parts Isak ’s legs with his knee, thigh pressing up against a half-hard length hidden in his jeans. “I don’t need new lines if they’re always working on you like this.”

He’s granted another dramatic eye roll. “You know what, Even?”

“What?”

A narrowing of his eyes tells Even that Isak is thinking exactly what he is thinking. Isak kisses him on the side of his mouth and lingers just near his ear. “We’ve got about fourteen minutes until countdown. I suppose we could figure out a good way to make use of it.”

Yeah, Even thinks, a little in awe, thrumming with this feeling, tangible where it hangs around his heart, beating to the rhythm of a two-syllable word: Isak, Isak, Isak.

 

-

 

Sneaking through the Kollektiv to fuck around in Isak’s room is like being sixteen again, giddy down to his toes and tickled by their elusiveness. Never mind Even’s was in a relationship at sixteen, trying so desperately to act like an adult. Never mind there is actually no need to sneak around: people are sufficiently distracted by the amount of bodies and commotion and music present. Most of the party has migrated en-mass to the living room in preparation for the impending countdown. But these are little more than semantics. The point is Isak’s devilish grin and his hand pulling Even into his room, pressing the door closed behind him and enclosing them in darkness. Even is on him in less than a second.

“We don’t have a lot of time - ” Isak says between kisses, manoeuvring his head to provide ample space for Even to suck nebula inspired shapes into his neck. “ _Ahh!_ Well - fuck it - ”

“God, I love it when you moan, baby,” Even says through clenched teeth, running a hand through Isak’s short hair and pulling it, eliciting another small sound. He slips his nose up the column of his neck, inhaling deeply and pressing him against the door again. Even kisses him with an open mouth, and as they part, a thin trail of spit follows. He’s entranced immediately by this intimacy, this strange and sudden closeness of sharing saliva, and tongues, and teeth - and how beautiful Isak’s teeth are, spaced perfectly apart from each other, enough for his tongue to press in between.  

“I love it when you call me baby,” Isak confesses, his voice barely held above a whisper. “Say it again.”

“ _Baby_ ,” he punctuates this with a kiss. Isak ’s face screws up in response and he pulls off Even’s jumper, and his t-shirt and smooths his hands over the lines of his torso, the moles and freckles which decorate Even’s skin. Kisses one nipple, and then the other.

He knows there’s a clock racing against them, but Even no longer cares. Isak has always affected him this way: it’s how they ended up in this very position with Even on his knees. And not just currently, but the first hook up, then the second, one after another, until it bypassed just good sex and snowballed into a full-blown love affair, and now Even sits astounded by the depth of his own feelings for this boy. He’s never been more grateful to be swept off his feet. He’s never been more grateful period. With all that's been said tonight, it’s quite plain to Even how brave Isak is. This humbling awestruck wave comes over him. It makes him prone to worship.

“Late, we're going to take our time. Really, go slow. I’m going to bend you over and eat you out for so long you’ll to forget how to speak,” Even promises him as they move backwards towards the bed, and Isak curses in response, ripping off his own clothes in such a speed that a moment later there’s only the pale naked skin of his body laid out beneath Even. The last dregs of moonlight outside casting slivers of light upon his shoulder.

“Then you’ll fuck me, won’t you?” Isak eggs him on.

Even runs a hand down the length of his face, thumb hooking on the corner of Isak’s mouth. He presses ever so slightly and watches with stilted delight the wet curl of Isak's tongue emerge to meet  his thumbnail.

“Or maybe you’ll fuck me,” Even suggests, and is rewarded with another small groan. Talking like this always makes Isak horny and on edge, anticipation fraught in his movements and actions. His dick swollen and heavy against his hip. Isak reaches for him, but Even presses him back down, holding his forearm against the accentuated vee of his hips so he holds still.

“Even,” Isak intones lowly, drawing out the last syllable of his name. “C’mon, let me up, let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” Even says, “First, let me take care of you. Look at you, baby. You’re so worked up already.”

And then he stops talking. There’s something about sucking Isak’s dick that flips a fucking switch in Even’s brain; once his lips are around him, all his thoughts escape out the back door and all he wonders about is the way Isak looks spread out around him, knees bent over his arms, hands in his hair; filling up Even’s line of sight. Peaceful isn’t the right word for it: neither is contentment. Watching Isak coming undone around him is a state of beatitude. Divinity, gratitude, enchantment. Even could wax poetic for fucking hours about it.

“Fffh - ” Isak gasps after he comes. “Even. Come here. That was so fucking hot. Oh my god.”

Even wipes the back of his mouth, the aftertaste tangy and pungent on his tongue. Isak pulls him down on top of him, and then frowns when he notices Even isn’t hard anymore. But Even hardly cares; this wasn't about him, anyway. His heart is beating so fast in his chest, the warmth of their skin overlapping sending him into sensory overdrive again.

“Wait, I wanted to make you come too - ”

“Later, remember,” Even decides, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressing their cheeks together. They lie half on top of each other side by side underneath the window. “We have time. Right now, I want to hold you very close.”

Isak accepts this. He reaches blindly for the windowsill and pulls a half-smoked joint a moment later, grinning proudly. “You got a light?”

“Oh, yeah, right here in my fucking kangaroo pouch,” he retorts, smiling when Isak just laughs at him. Too light-hearted to bite back with something sarcastic is an Isak-specific sweetness Even is almost certain no one else sees.The moonlight casts little shadows under the muscles in Isak's back, shifting as he searches his floor for a lighter.

“Fuck,” Isak mutters, looking at his phone. “We missed it. It’s 00:02.” doesn’t care. Now on the other side, the countdown feels arbitrary and illusionary. What does it matter anyway? Now they are here. And here is real. Here he’s content, spread out and tethered in this suspended bliss: their nakedness, free and uncomplicated in this abundant darkness.

“Well, I suppose we should kiss then,” Isak puts one knee on the bed, lighting his joint and passing it over. Even takes it, watching with distant amusement the array of fireworks exploding outside, all over Oslo.

“I suppose we should,” Even quips. “You know what’s funny? They’re so fucking loud out there - I swear, I can fucking hear Mutta from here- and yet I can’t remember hearing a single damn thing. Not even the final countdown. Not even the fireworks. No, really.”

“You have this effect on me too,” Isak says by way of answering. Even smiles, and sits up, reaching over to cup his cheek. Isak presses against his palm in response, bending to try and kiss whatever skin is available at this angle. He ends up catching the tender skin on the inside of his wrist, leaving behind a little wet mark.

“Happy New Year, Isak ,” he says. “Would you do 2019 the ultimate honour of becoming my boyfriend?”

Isak grins, rosy cheeked and spry. The guilt which occupied in Even’s chest all evening is starting to recede, and he takes a deep breath, inhaling their combined smells: the soap of Isak’s shower from earlier, their sex evident on Even’s body, and something else. A smell uniquely them. A comforting scent which Even embraces without fear.

He's granted an eye roll and a small scoff, “Well, well, well. It’s about time, Even Bech Næsheim,” Isak goads. Mouth split open like fresh fruit into the widest smile Even’s seen yet. 

“That's not an answer. Is it yes? No? Or are you really so cruel to keep me waiting?”

Isak crawls over to kiss him: the first honest kiss of 2019. He pulls away with a little _pop!_ All the while smirking in that self-satisfied way of his. It’s an idiosyncrasy Even finds himself endeared to each time it happens like it's the first time all over again. There's a mouthful of forever's here, Even is willing to bet, lurking in the mixture of everything else Even is realising about Isak.

“It’s gonna be a yes from me,” Isak says against his lips. Even pulls him closer until they’re hugging: naked bodies aligned in pieces of the same puzzle, joint forgotten on the windowsill, snow flurries dimming the glow of the fireworks outside. The party, once all-consuming, now easily forgotten about.

“Well, that’s good,” Even remarks. “Because you’re my baby. Best that we make it official.”

“I’m your baby,” Isak echoes softly, like an afterthought. And then, a little bashful, he adds, “And you’re _my_ baby.”

“And I’m your baby,” Even agrees. “And here we are, together.”

There’s few better ways to start the New Year.

  
  
  
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**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, bookmarks and rec'ing etc. this story online makes a fic writer's most inner dreams come true - so thank you to everyone who left love from the bottom of my heart. This is in part for all of you.
> 
> Specific warnings include: homophobic language, including a reference/interpretation on the Josak-moment that JA posted and I'm sure everyone is now aware of. While in S4 the Balloon Squad is cleared of any homophobic concerns, and while I deftly stand by this for the sake of avoiding harmful stereotyping, I also think issues of homophobia and toxic masculinity/gendered language are present within everyone, everywhere, and this is my attempt to reflect that. The same goes for Isak's attitude towards being out, which differs from canon in terms of S4 - for obvious reasons. & like last time - there are abundant references to pot smoking. Sorry not sorry!
> 
> Alt er Love!


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